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Dealy MaJigger

Dealy MaJigger crossed the smoldering battlefield with a characteristic smirk on his face that made it difficult to tell, should a casual observer ever survive long enough in his vicinity to casually observe him, whether or not he was putting on an act of enjoying slaughter, actually enjoyed it, or just had a psychotic fixation on creating as much of it possible. Sweat dripped off of his sun-darkened skin and across the leather vest, which used to be able to call itself a jacket before Deals, as his friends called him, lay his smirk upon it. It clung to him and the dirty T-Shirt under it like it was afraid of falling off in the middle of Deals doing what he does and being subjected to whatever it was that Deals was doing to whoever it was in front of him. He paused to light a cigar and let his boot rest on a scorched skull that promptly crumbled beneath him out of respect. His boots, heavy and black but stained red, rested in the ground slick with mud and gore. They themselves smiled at the thought of being caked in viscera, insomuch as a boot can smile, which is to say not at all as far as I know. But if they could, they would be the only part of Dealy to give a genuine smile, despite reflecting how he actually did feel right now. Today had been a good day.

Aside from the fires still burning in a lazy way across the acres and acres of carnage that lay before him, the cigar that he now puffed as he surveyed the scene was the brightest thing for miles. The sky had been dark for hours from the smoke of burning flesh and the fuel of the machines of war. The sun was trying to vain to bring some soft oranges and yellows to the sky, but it gave up and sulked off past the horizon. The sun must have been the only thing not to fear the rough, bearded, muscular man that was now the only living thing still standing, but even that was only because of it’s distance from him. If Dealy MaJigger had somehow made it to Mercury or a comet that was making a near pass, the sun might find itself a little apprehensive about looking at him the wrong way.

Dealy stood there for several long moments, drinking it in the way a great artist does his work. Despite the size of the Cold War Era Russian army, once word had gotten out that he traveled back in time to find them and hunt them down, they were surprisingly hard to find. He had to spend 6 weeks weeding out snow-camo ambushes before he caught wind of the main force. Once he had them in sight, he began his one man march on their camp. An hour after most of them had fallen asleep, he let loose a war cry that sounded across the snow drifts and bounced from mountain to valley, over hill and dale, shattering a nearby frozen-over lake and causing any of his adversaries who didn’t quite have the fortitude to handle it to mess their shorts just a bit.

As the men scrambled to grab their weapons and mount the larger guns, Deals had already rigged a set of claymores to the side of the tank he drove through the camp to fend off any possible heroes in their midst that might try and mount it. Midway through his joyride, a fuse reached it’s end and a volley of mortars took out the big guns and armored vehicles that may have slowed Deals down. The tank path had been chosen to run over the commander’s tents who then couldn’t bark out their orders and give Deals too much trouble. It worked like a charm, and he’d spent the rest of the morning slaughtering those who chanced a frontal attack, and the afternoon chasing down stragglers and runaways and burning everything in sight to the ground. Today had been a good day for Dealy MaJigger.

When at last the night had fully set, Deals put his cigar out on his arm, in the usual place. The ever growing scar was the only way that Deals could tell time was passing, one victory cigar after another. He began his march home, stopping only to scoop some snow to pack onto a burn his leg had suffered from a stray, lucky grenade. Not bad, he thought to himself, but I can do better. About midnight he got hungry so he tracked down a pack of wolves and killed them all with his boot knife.